


The halls of the mountain king

by Hokova



Category: The Last Unicorn (1982), The Last Unicorn - All Media Types, The Last Unicorn - Peter S. Beagle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Book Verse, F/M, Gen, Multi, Shippy if you Squint, pov of the unicorn, the unicorn doesn't forget, unicorn Haggard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22911115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hokova/pseuds/Hokova
Summary: Upon her having horrible nightmares of the carnival and waking at night, instead of the prince the lady meets the king on the stairs to talk about it. Things take a drastically different turn for the entire story.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 13





	1. Deep dark sea

The walls of the room seemed to thaw and run away, and the wizard’s starry gown became the huge, howling night. Mabruk spoke no word himself, but the wind was beginning to make a wicked, grunting sound as it gained strength. In another moment it would become visible, burst into shape. Schmendrick opened his mouth, but if he were shouting a counterspell it could not be heard, and it did not work.  
  


The painful rush of air felt as though a great wyrm was flapping its wings on her back. It was a familiar feeling. Her back was bent differently and not as powerful as it should be against the blows, but she remembered, and it dragged her gaze away from the black and white waves crashing underneath the castle with some difficulty.

She had to use her horn on the dragon that made such a wind then; this one was coming out of nowhere, an otherworldly element let into this world by a single thread of human magic. Turning a little to the side, she could almost see it in the dark, right by them and over her companion's heads, making them cover on the ground against it. 

Suddenly, they reminded her of frightened animals huddling together for comfort that would not be coming, because their protector had left their forest and mow they were alone, about to be devoured.

A strange sorrow at that made her insides flash bright, calling on the power enclosed in to come out until it rose up to a tingle in her forehead, and an involuntary raised hand.  
  
Then the wind was gone as though it had never been, and the stone walls were around them once more, the dull chamber as gay as noon after Mabruk’s night.

For a brief moment, she rejoiced in the knowledge that she indeed was still herself inside even if her outer shell was different.

The wizard was crouched almost to the floor, staring at the Lady Amalthea. His wise, benevolent face looked like the face of a drowned man, and his beard dripped thinly from his chin, like stagnant water. Prince Lír took him by the arm.  
  
“Come on, old man,” he said, not unkindly. “This way out, granddad. I’ll write you a reference.”  
  
“I am going,” Mabruk said. “Not from fear of you, you lump of stale dough‌—‌nor of your mad, ungrateful father; nor of your new magician, much happiness may you have of him.” His eyes met King Haggard’s hungry eyes, and he laughed like a goat.  
  
“Haggard, I would not be you for all the world,” he declared. “You have let your doom in by the front door, though it will not depart that way. I would explain myself more fully, but I am no longer in your service. That is a pity, for there will come a time when none but a master will be able to save you‌—‌and in that hour, you will have Schmendrick to call upon! Farewell, poor Haggard, farewell!”  
  
Still laughing, he disappeared; but his mirth dwelled forever in the corners of that chamber, like the smell of smoke, or of old, cold dust.  
  
“Well,” said King Haggard in the gray moonlight. “Well.”

He came slowly toward Schmendrick and Molly, his feet silent, his head weaving almost playfully. She watched out of the corner of her eye, the movement reminding her of something she had seen long ago. Perhaps in the young stags in her woods....

“Stand still,” he commanded when they moved. “I want to see your faces.”  
  
His breath rasped like a knife on a grindstone as he peered from one of them to the other. “Closer!” he grumbled, squinting through the dark. “Come closer‌—‌closer! I want to see you.”  
  
“Light a light then,” said Molly Grue.  
  
“I never light lights,” the king replied. “What is the good of light?”  
  
He turned from them, muttering to himself, “One face is almost guileless, almost foolish, but not quite foolish enough. The other is a face like my face, and that must mean danger. Yet I saw all that at the gate‌—‌why did I let them enter, then? Mabruk was right; I have grown old and daft and easy. Still, I see only Haggard when I look in their eyes.”  
  
She was again gazing out of the window, studying the landscape, and more felt than heard him move closer. The presence was faint, old, almost unrecognizable as a human being anymore, and she miscalculated; King Haggard had drawn very near before she wheeled swiftly, lowering her head and locking eyes with him, a cornered creature readying to attack with its horn though it was no longer there. But it didn't matter, the movement itself gave her some peace of mind.

“I will not touch you,” he said, and then they both stood still as statues.

What a strange thing, that he found the one reassuring sentence she needed, that she warned against with her little display. The understanding calmed her immensely.  
  
“Why do you linger at the window?” he demanded. “What are you looking at?”  
  
“I am looking at the sea,” the unicorn replied.  
  
“Ah,” said the king. “Yes, the sea is always good. There is nothing that I can look at for very long, except the sea.”

Yet he stared at her for a long time, his own face giving back none of her light‌—‌as Prince Lír’s had‌—‌but taking it in and keeping it somewhere. His breath was as musty as the wizard’s wind, but she never moved. His eyes had little color, yet it was as staring into a bottomless well, like the blackest night reflected on the sea, very much like the real thing. The unicorn found herself curious as much as he was, studying them back. Something of it reminded of looking into her home pond.  
  
Suddenly, he straightened back in something of a mix of dread and excitement, and shouted, “What is the matter with your eyes? They are full of green leaves, crowded with trees and streams and small animals. Where am I? Why can I not see myself in your eyes?”  
  


Where am I? She thought, not moving an inch. Why do you look like the monsters of the deep sea and shadows of the abyss move there? Why is there blood and night and water yet not my reflection? That is the only reason I look humans in the eye.  
King Haggard swung around to face Schmendrick and Molly. His scimitar smile laid its cold edge along their throats. “Who is she?” he demanded.  
  
Schmendrick coughed several times. “The Lady Amalthea is my niece,” he offered. “I am her only living relative, and so her guardian. On our journey, we were attacked by bandits and robbed of all our—”  
  
King Haggard said, “What she wears, what may have befallen you, what you all are to one another‌—‌these things are fortunately no concern of mine. In such matters you may lie to me as much as you dare. I want to know who she is. I want to know how she broke Mabruk’s magic without saying a word. I want to know why there are green leaves and fox cubs in her eyes. Speak quickly, and avoid the temptation to lie, especially about the green leaves. Answer me.”

Schmendrick did not reply quickly. He made a few small sounds of an earnest nature, but not a sensible word was among them. Then the light, kind, silly voice of the young Prince Lír replied in their stead.  
  
“Father, what difference does it make? She is here now.”  
  
King Haggard sighed. It was not a gentle sound, but low and scraping; not a sound of surrender, but the rumbling meditation of a tiger taut to spring. “Of course you are right,” he said. “She is here, they are all here, and whether they mean my doom or not, I will look at them for a while. A pleasant air of disaster attends them. Perhaps that is what I want...”   
  


By then, she was again gazing out the window, tuning them out like the buzz of fireflies, letting only the somehow deafening crash of waves enter her ears. There was a haunting quality to the sound, as if something was in them, something she should want. But why? Unicorns did not want anything, because they had all they needed always with them. She snapped back into attention upon feeling words directed at her own person.

''You may come and go as you please,” said King Haggard. “It may have been foolish of me to admit you, but I am not so foolish as to forbid you this door or that. My secrets guard themselves‌—‌will yours do the same? ...What are you looking at?”  
  
“I am looking at the sea,” the Lady Amalthea replied again, gaze fixed on it as much as the king's was on the curve of hair on her shoulder.  
  
“Yes, the sea is always good,” he replied, almost smiling. “We will look at it together one day.”

…..........................................................................................

Her days passed in the dreamy, numb manner of a man sentenced to death. It was not very long, by her own count, not compared to the countless years and centuries before where she simply was. Yet it was all new, as well, for the lack of greenery and lack of warmth that always accompanied her time home. The castle was always cold and dark in some manner and she found herself fascinated with all the nuances of it. It was the first time spending a extended period of time anywhere since leaving, and studying little nooks and crannies of the place filled her days. Any time alone was a time of relative peace, even if sometimes she itched to take flight and run up and down the vast halls. She knew better than that now. Losing balance was precariously easy on two legs and the falls hurt much more.

However painful it was, though, it was never more than waking up each morning only to discover it was not a bad dream. Before, she never had bad dreams, yet now hoped for it all to be one and to be awoken by a bear cub nudging her side for attention or a bird perched on her horn to catch a fly.

Instead, though, there was the prince that trailed after her in the likes of a lost puppy. Following in her quiet steps did him good, but then many men grew either healthier or deathly ill by that, and she didn't put much importance to it at first. She was wary; men had tried to snare her before, but never before did they offer a hand for her to ascend stairs or tried wooing her as one of their own with stutters and courtly behavior. It was perplexing how he thought of her as her outer shape, yet being in awe much more than for a mortal woman. She was aware of what he craved, even if it was new to her. She had seen it at home and in the couples that sometimes visited there.

Maybe he knew, inside, that she was not, but couldn't help it.

Sharing the castle – for that was what he thought of it as, she realized – with Haggard was a much more subtle affair. True to his word he let her wander anywhere it was possible to and explore and she only had a faint idea of where he was at any given time, like a shadow, except the times they ate and when she spotted Schmendrick hurrying past her like a man possessed, knowing he was being summoned.

They did not speak, did not even meet on many days, but somehow always were aware of the other. If she stared out on the tide, she could be sure that he did too, fascinated by something lost in it that nobody else saw or even knew of.

One day, out of the blue, Lear returned with his saddle bag full of a surprise that she did not expect to see dragged all the way to her, the less showed like a proud trophy to gift her.

It was a dragon head, severed and dead for a while, with its red tongue still dripping venom from where it last struck before a mistake proved fatal. The unicorn looked at it in mild surprise and no small puzzlement.

The death itself did not strike her hard, as she herself had killed dragons before and understood why it was sometimes necessary. However, she never told anyone about the exploits, she never showed anyone the dead body, assured that its disappearance and peace for the land was proof enough. Why had he brought it?

She stared Lear in the eye, the question hanging between them. Whatever reaction he had expected, she could see that this was clearly not it.

''It... was eating passing travelers in the western woods,'' he explained hurriedly, as if trying to apologize for the kill. Staring a while longer, she then gave a mild nod of understanding, turning to look outside again.

In one ear, she heard him start to recount the tale, describing its lair and the journey and the dragon, then the fight itself. The words suggested a horrifying encounter, yet he told it with a mix of pride and and excitement, colorfully painting the whole thing and barely surviving. She was by then used to nodding absent-mindedly to most of it, until something in his tales caught her attention. She liked his describtions of the lands he visited and the forests.

''...then it lunged forward like an arrow, snapping, and we stumbled; the moment the beast saw an opening, it reared up, tall as a old oak, and unleashed a torrent of flames so hot I almost felt it all the way up from under the saddle. My horse barely leapt to safety, but it still caught the fire on one foot. I knew it couldn't last much longer at that speed, so had to make a decision about--''

This was one of the things that caught her attention very well.

''She was hurt?'' in a sudden thrill that sounded much like a startled neigh, she asked.

Lear stopped talking, surprised at suddenly being interrupted. ''Ah, well, yes, but don't worry, we both made it back safely-''

''Where is she?'' she asked again, remembering the mare – the real mare – that he often rode out on, white and gray and reliably carrying her rider to every battle.

''In the stables?'' he replied, obviously wondering where else she thought his horse could be.

''Take me there.'' ''But, My Lady, it really is nothing for you to look at, the leg--''

''Take me.''

Finding no energy or courage left to oppose her, the prince simply nodded and began his descent again, sometimes turning to check if she was indeed following behind. She was.

They heard the horse before seeing her in the stables, the muffled sound of her wheezing painfully while leaning on the wall of her pen to not put pressure onto her leg. The sound sent her heart hammering wildly as she rushed to put her hand and cheek on the poor animal's neck.

It instantly quieted down, shivering in pain still but now reassured. Horses always knew her.

I'm here, I'm here, she mouthed, nuzzling against the fur. Everything will be alright. I will make you feel better.

The mare nodded weakly and did not even stir as the girl by her side crouched down, putting both hands onto the badly seared, red wound on her leg. She would lean her head down as well, but recalled with some annoyance that it would have no effect, and so only focused on her hands.

Yet.... looking down on them, she could not remember why she thought that this would heal the burn. How have any human hands ever brought relief, hers or otherwise?

No, no, you're not human, she reminded herself hurriedly, terrified of the thought itself. But the hands. But they're not yours! But you're using hands to hold her leg...

Instead of focusing, she began shivering herself. Have I ever healed anything at all? Was it a dream? Was the feeling she was so sure of a while ago only an illusion?

She recalled the energy in her forehead, the wind, the forest, and her....her... yet...

The mare waited, and neighed pitifully when the girl stood up, shaking, neither understanding why it wasn't as they expected. Amalthea turned and fled, fast as two legs could carry her out the stables and from the poor, betrayed look in the mare's eyes.

She went outside and found there was a downpour. It never snowed near the sea, but the rain was freezing to the bone and today she felt it enter her very soul, washing around the sorrow and guilt and the sense of utter loss.

…..........................................................................

The days were as dull as she felt after that, drained and dumb.

The pale mark on her brow was invisible in the gloom of the scullery. She touched it and then drew her hand away quickly, as though the mark hurt her. “The horse died,” she said to the little cat under. “I could do nothing.”   
  
Molly turned quickly and put her hands on her shoulders.

“Oh, my lady,” she whispered, “that is because you are out of your true form. When you regain yourself, it will all return‌—‌all your power, all your strength, all your sureness. It will come back to you.”

Amalthea wanted to hug her in that moment, but answered.

“The magician gave me only the semblance of a human being‌—‌the seeming, but not the spirit. If I had died then, I would still have been a unicorn. The old man knew, the wizard. He said nothing, to spite Haggard, but he knew. He knew too. But that feels so long ago. Now I am two‌—‌myself, and this other that you call ‘my lady.’ For she is here as truly as I am now, though once she was only a veil over me. She walks in the castle, she sleeps, she dresses herself, she takes her meals, and she thinks her own thoughts. If she has no power to heal, or to quiet, still she has another magic. Men speak to her, saying ‘Lady Amalthea,’ and she answers them, or she does not answer. The king is always watching her out of his pale eyes, wondering what she is, and the king’s son wounds himself with loving her and wonders who she is. And every day she searches the sea and the sky, the castle and the courtyard, the keep and the king’s face, for something she cannot always remember. What is it, what is it that she is seeking in this strange place? ...She knew a moment ago, but she has forgotten...”

She turned to face her dearest friend in the castle, and spotted a startled expression in her face as the woman searched her face for something as well, something she didn't feel was there. She knew she lost a grip on something. But what? What dropped from her like a stone into the sea to leave her wondering what she was doing in this castle?   
  
“ Unicorns,” Molly said clearly. “The Red Bull has driven them all away, all but you. You are the last unicorn. You came here to find the others, and to set them free. And so you will.”   
  
Slowly the clarity seeped back into her mind and soul, and she almost screamed inside. Unicorns! Her own! Her people! How could she have forgotten? How had this veil slipped so deep inside her that it hid her very soul even from herself?

“I must go to him,'' she said immediately, resolute. ''There is no other way, and no time to spare. In this form or my own, I must face him again, even if all my people are dead and there is nothing to be saved. I must go to him, before I forget myself forever, but I do not know the way, and I am lonely.” 

  
“ I will go with you,” Molly said. “I don’t know the way down to the Bull either, but there must be one. Schmendrick will come too. He’ll make the way for us if we can’t find it.”   
  
“ I hope for no help from the magician,” the Lady Amalthea replied disdainfully. “I see him every day playing the fool for King Haggard, amusing him by his failures, by blundering at even the most trifling trick. He says that it is all he can do until his power speaks in him again. But it never will. He is no magician now, but the king’s clown.”   
  
Molly’s face suddenly hurt her, and she turned away to inspect the soup again. Answering past a sharpness in her throat, she said, “He is doing it for you. While you brood and mope and become someone else, he jigs and jests for Haggard, diverting him so that you may have time to find your folk, if they are to be found. But it cannot be long before the king tires of him, as he tires of all things, and casts him down to his dungeons, or some place darker. You do wrong to mock him.”

Suddenly, she felt berated as if by her mother, so long ago when she was still the color of sea foam and mankind only a idea on the edge of a god's dream.

And it was rightfully so. For a moment, she shut her eyes tightly, gripping the memory and green leaves in her heart. She could not lose it again, even if her mind slipped and became pretty and empty of all but castles and waves.

….........................................................

Dreams seemed to visit more easily now than ever before, as if desperate to latch onto her like leeches she would never again tear off. Each day something became paler in her waking world, it crashed the more heavily and colorfully into her sleep, crushing Lady Amalthea's mind as the past fought to be in control, fought not to be forgotten.

Some nights, it even drove her out of bed to wander the castle like a white ghost, her own shine no longer quite enough to chase away the dread and confusion eating at her heels at trying to recall, trying to hold onto the flashes of strange things in her dreams that she knew could not have happened. Hadn't she always been here? Hadn't she always been a lady? How, oh how, was this making her so frightened and desperate?

She was running down the spiral staircase as if she could outrun her own mind, half asleep still, when at a corner, she spotted another figure in the dark. A strange, bleating sound left her throat and she stood still, three steps above him and breathing heavily.  
  


Neither spoke at first, until a raspy, but calm voice greeted her.

“A good evening to you.”  
  
The Lady Amalthea stared at him through the gloom, putting out a hand, but drawing it back before she touched him. Whose was it? Who was so familiar?

“Who are you?” she whispered. “Are you Celaeno?”  
  


A silent laugh came as an answer, and he moved slightly forward to a window through which moonlight filtered on a clear night.  
“No,” he answered. “Look closer.”

But she backed away, instinctively, and lowered her head in the way of a goat or a deer, not knowing why. He said, “I’m not going to touch you.”  
  


A shiver went through her legs as she recalled these words, but stilled.  
“The old woman,” said the Lady Amalthea. “The moon went out. Ah!”

She shivered once, and then her eyes recognized him. But all her body was still wild and watchful and she came no nearer to him.  
  
“You were dreaming,” he said, surprisingly patient. “What of? Nothing should frighten you so.”  
  
“I have dreamed it before,” she answered slowly, wondering why she wanted to share the dream. “I was in a cage, and there were others‌—‌beasts in cages, and an old woman. But I will not trouble you, Your Majesty. I have dreamed it many times before.”  
  
She would have left him then, but he shook his head, with a huff that made her think of the stables. “A dream that returns so often is like to be a messenger, come to warn you of the future or to remind you of things untimely forgotten. Say more of this and I will try to riddle it for you.”  
  
Thereupon she halted, looking at him with her head a little turned, still with the air of some slim, furred creature peering out of a thicket. But her eyes held a human look of loss, as though she had missed something she needed, or suddenly realized that she had never had it. If he had even blinked, she would have been gone; but he did not blink, and he held hers without urging to continue or leaving.   
  
The Lady Amalthea said, staring into the abyss, “In the dream there are black, barred wagons, and beasts that are and are not, and a winged being that clangs like metal in the moonlight -Celaeno!. The tall man has green eyes and bloody hands.”  
  
“The tall man must be the magician,” Haggard mused. “That part’s clear enough, anyway, and the bloody hands don’t surprise me. Is there more?”  
  
“I cannot tell you all of it,” she said. “It is never finished.” Fear came back to her eyes like a great stone falling into a pool: all was clouded and swirling, and quick shadows were rushing everywhere. She said, “I am running away from a good place where I was safe, and the night is burning around me. But it is day too, and I am walking under beech trees in the warm, sour rain, and there are butterflies, and a honey sound, and dappled roads, and towns like fishbones, and the flying thing is killing the old woman. I am running and running into the freezing fire, however I turn, and my legs are the legs of a beast—” She took a breath of air as he nodded to go on.  
“But it is never finished. Even when I wake, I cannot tell what is real, and what I am dreaming as I move and speak and eat my dinner. I remember what cannot have happened, and forget something that is happening to me now. People look at me as though I should know them, and I do know them in the dream, and always the fire draws nearer, though I am awake—”  
  
“Now now,” he cut in, clear as a knife through butter. ''now you are getting lost in it. It is good to remember your dreams, but not scattered like mad squirrels.

He paused, then continued in a somewhat gentler voice upon seeing her panic and loss.

''Surely,'' he said. ''the cages are very real. No cage could hold you for long, I imagine, but for a while you could have been in it.''

''Why would someone put me in a cage?'' she cried out, confused. In response, he gave a long, thoughtful look.

''It has been too long,'' he said aloud, with some sorrow. ''you have been away too long in here. You should be with your own, but like this...''

''Whom? I beg of you, don't speak in riddles,'' she pleaded on the verge of crying.

''You are forgetting,'' in a hard voice, he started explaining. ''You are forgetting your home is a forest with green leaves and fox cubs. How humans desire you so badly they could gladly put you in a cage to look at you all day for the magic. You forgot how the Red Bull hounded you and herded you towards my castle, once or more times that I don't know. You ran away from him on four, white furred legs, and somehow – I know not how – you ended up in a woman's body that is now eating you from the inside out. You were female, but you weren't a woman. People sometimes mistook you for a white horse, however blasphemous that is.''

Slowly, very slowly, her eyes widened, but her face calmed down, both in awe and disbelief. Slowly, she brought a hand up towards her forehead, brushing around the bump in the middle.

''Yes, and you are missing your horn,'' he added, painfully soft.

They could have stood in silence for hours, one wondering, the other watching, with only the sounds of the sea crashing outside. In the end, he made an almost unnoticeable gesture down, moving a step back too. Still shocked, she took a step forward, then another, until they both stalked through the castle to the entrance and outside to rocks and sand. The night was crisp and clear and it helped her gather her wits a little.

''How strange. I told you that you could come and go as you will, yet you haven't left the castle since you arrived,'' the king noted with a sour smile. ''double confinement did not do you good, my lady.''

''Don't call me that,'' she said without turning to face him and only gazed at the moon. ''that's not who I am. Everybody calls me that.''

Without much amusement he laughed, coming to stand by her side. It was as close as it could be, without touching even accidentally. ''Of course, I apologize. It's the nasty force of habit. But what to call you, I wonder? I know what you are, yet not who you are.''

For the first time, she turned to look at him first, staring without a single emotion showing on her face save a blank, scrutinizing look. ''We do not have names like mankind.''

''Yes, but I must call you something. What do you wish to be called?''

For a moment she was speechless. ''What does the name Amalthea mean? Why did he give that one to me?''

''Improvisation on the spot,'' he replied lightly, poking a stray rock under his boot. ''it is a mythological name of something or other that cared for an infant god. It means tender goddess, I believe.''

She liked the meaning, but frowned at it nevertheless. It was a good name, but not quite what she thought of herself as, and simply shook her head. ''I don't know. I need time to think about it.''

''You have all the time in the world.''

They stood silent for a while longer before he moved towards the ocean, and involuntarily she did too. Then she remembered why she dreaded to step outside and halted a moment, holding in her breath and searching the night for a flash of red and the telltale bellow of the Bull. As though he read her mind, Haggard beckoned to move again. ''Worry not, he is far away today in another kingdom searching for you. You may go down without fear.''

He stopped again once he noticed she didn't move from the spot and kept stealing glances towards the castle gate again, then to the hills, legs trembling. With a frown, he watched the tremors under her dress a moment. 

''I don't trust you,'' she finally said.

At that, he started laughing outright, and it was startlingly loud and high in the empty night even over the waves.

''I understand,'' he finally replied, ''of course, I will not force you. At the beach or in the castle, you are still close by. It suits me just as fine that you should return to bed to your memories. Or follow me. But either way you choose, know what I do not wish you harm.''

He paused, ooking over his shoulder, and began talking in a voice no louder than brisk wind in dry leaves. ''I had nightmares too, once. Someone they called the mountain king. Of dragons, dungeons, and a land too vast for one, with only goats loving its hills, of hunters, blood, drowning and magic-- and yet more blood until the entire shore ran red and then ran on its own, called vast and alive... So many of mine were red. But no more.''

It rang very true between them even as he moved down at a brisk pace, not slipping once. Slowly, she turned again, and began the ascent back to her chosen tower, breathing somewhat lighter than before. Far more questions than answers arose from their talk, yet for the reminders, the memories themselves, she could think on them more calmly now. The knowledge returned some power to her step, and some determination into her heart, dragged down and weary from the seemingly hopeless situation. 

Was this his proof that he indeed craved a disaster?


	2. Songs

One afternoon the unicorn stood on the highest tower of the castle, watching Prince Lír’s return from an expedition against a brother-in-law of the ogre he had slain; for he still went out on occasional errantries, as he had told Molly he might. He had a new horse, she noted, this one sturdier and with leg protection. The sky was piled up over the valley of Hagsgate, the color of dirty soap, but it was not raining. Far below, the sea slid out toward the smoky horizon in hard bands of silver and green and kelpy brown. The birds were restless: they flew out often, two and three together, circled swiftly over the water, and then returned to strut on the sand, chortling and cocking their heads at King Haggard’s castle on the cliff. “Saidso, saidso!” The tide was low and near to turning.  
  
She began to sing, and her voice balanced and hovered in the cold air like another sort of bird.  
  
I am a king’s daughter,  
  
And I grow old within  
  
The prison of my person,  
  
The shackles of my skin.  
  
And I would run away  
  
And beg from door to door...

Just to see your shadow once, and never more, she finished in her mind, as the words weighted her heart too much to sing the rest. She didn't like the feeling and was wondering what it was for a moment longer, until something brushed against the edge of her mind and she focused on that.  
Another. She observed the presence coming up to her and stopping a respectful distance away and greeted him.

  
“Your Majesty,” she said, though there had been no sound. She heard the rustling chuckle at her back, and turned to see the king. He wore a gray cloak over his mail, but his head was bare. The black lines on his face showed where the fingernails of age had skidded down the hard skin, but he looked stronger than his son, and wilder.  
  
“You are quick for what you are,” he said, “but slow, I think, for what you were.”

She could recognize a jab when she heard one though none had been aimed at her before, and returned it. “How can you know how soon I knew? I might have said nothing even if you showed yourself to me.”

For a moment, it looked like Haggard was speechless, but in the end snorted and nodded, acknowledging his defeat.

Then armor winked deep in the valley, and she heard the scrape of a weary horse stumbling on stone.

“Your son is coming home,” she said. “Let us watch him together.”  
  
King Haggard came slowly to stand beside her at the parapet, but he gave no more than a glance to the tiny, glinting figure riding home.

“Nay, what concern have you or I with Lír, truly?” he asked. “He’s none of mine, either by birth or belonging. I picked him up where someone else had set him down, thinking that I had never been happy and never had a son. It was pleasant enough at first, but it died quickly. All things die when I pick them up. I do not know why they die, but it has always been so, save for the one dear possession that has not turned cold and dull as I guarded it—the only thing that has ever belonged to me.”

His grim face gave the sudden starved leap of a sprung trap. “And Lír will be no help to you in finding it,” he said. “He has never even known what it is.”  
  
Without warning, the whole castle sang like a plucked string as the beast asleep at its root shifted his dire weight. She caught her balance easily, being well used to this, even though inside it still made her tremble. “I hope for no help from him, or anyone. Not even you. You would sooner send your bull to claim me too than help me.”  
  
“He is not mine. He serves anyone who has no fear—and I have no more fear than I have rest.” Yet the mare saw forebodings sliding over the long, gray face, scuttling in the shadows of brows and bones. There was a trace of fear, after all.  
  
Prince Lír was singing as he rode, though the unicorn could not yet hear the words. She said quietly to the king, “My lord, in all your castle, in all your realm, in all the kingdoms that the Red Bull may bring you, there is only one thing I desire—and I cannot find them. Wherever they are, I cannot even feel them, the Bull drowned out their cries.”  
  
She moved toward the tower stairway, but he stood in her way and she paused, looking at him with her eyes as dark as hoofprints in snow. The gray king smiled, and a strange kindness for him chilled her for an instant, for she suddenly fancied that they were somehow alike, and she waited, startled at what he wanted to say. He looked seaward over his shoulder, and suddenly stepped to the parapet with the thoughtless grace of a young man.

“The tide is turning,” he said. “Come and see it. Come here.” He spoke very softly, but his voice suddenly held the crying of the birds on the shore. “Come here,” he said fiercely. “Come here, I won’t touch you.”  
Prince Lír sang:  
  
I will love you as long as I can,  
  
However long that may be…  
The horrible head on his saddle was harmonizing in a kind of bass falsetto. The unicorn went to stand with the king.  
  


The waves were coming in under the thick, swirling sky, growing as slowly as trees as they bulged across the sea. They crouched as they neared the shore, arching their backs higher and higher, and then sprang up the beach as furiously as trapped animals bounding at a wall and falling back with a sobbing snarl to leap again and again, claws caked and breaking, while the birds yelled mournfully. The waves were gray and green as pigeons until they broke, and then they were the color of the hair that blew across her eyes.  
  
“There,” a strange, high voice said close to her. “There they are.”

King Haggard was grinning at her and pointing down to the white water.  
He could not wait for her answer, but turned away to look at the waves. His face was changed beyond believing: delight coloring the somber skin, rounding over the cheekbones, and loosening the bowstring mouth.

“They are mine,” he said softly, “they belong to me. The Red Bull gathered them for me, one at a time, and I bade him drive each one into the sea. What better place could there be to keep unicorns, and what other cage could hold them? For the Bull keeps guard over them, awake or asleep, and he daunted their hearts long ago. Now they live in the sea, and every tide still carries them within an easy step of the land, but they dare not take that step, they dare not come out of the water. They are afraid of the Red Bull. You too do not step out the castle though you easily can.”  
Nearby, Prince Lír sang  
  
Others may offer more than they can give,  
  
All that they have for as long as they live…  
  
“I like to watch them. They fill me with joy.” The childish voice was all but singing. “I am sure it is joy. The first time I felt it, I thought I was going to die. There were two of them in the early morning shadows. One was drinking from a stream, and the other was resting her head on his back. I thought I was going to die. I said to the Red Bull, ‘I must have that. I must have all of it, all there is, for my need is very great.’ So the Bull caught them, one by one.”  
  


And then she saw. The foam white of the youngest, and shadowed snow of her peers. There were no pearls in the sea, only their long horns, and no white rocks and waves, but only their flanks desperately pressed together, huddled, trying to gather courage, but never stepping foot out of the water, cloven hooves hitting the cliffs on which the castle was built. Now she heard them, too soft to notice if they weren't pointed out and too beautiful even in sorrow to be forgotten. The sight shook her very core, clawed at her soul and made it cry out to go closer, and suddenly she understood his mad longing to have them all rounded up here, as every time a head disappeared underwater, she felt dying a little more than the moment before.  
  
But I will love you as long as I can  
  
And never ask if you love me...  
  
“I suppose I was young when I first saw them,” King Haggard said. “Now I must be old—at least I have picked many more things up than I had then, and put them all down again. But I always knew that nothing was worth the investment of my heart, because nothing lasts, and I was right, and so I was always old. Yet each time I see my unicorns, it is like that morning in the woods, and I am truly young in spite of myself, and anything can happen in a world that holds such beauty. “I wonder what will become of them when I am gone. The Red Bull will forget them immediately, I know, and be off to find a new master, but I wonder if they will take their freedom even then.”  
  
Then he turned to look at her again, and his eyes were as gentle and greedy as Prince Lír’s eyes became when he looked at her and made her shiver. “You are the last,” he said. “The Bull missed you because you were shaped like a woman, but I always knew. How did you manage the change, by the way? Your magician couldn’t have done it. I don’t think he could turn cream into butter.”

  
If she had let go of the parapet she would have fallen, or perhaps jumped, and simply stared back at him, hopeless. He took a step toward her, and she watched him with her eyes open, unable to move.  
  
The tumult of the sea and the unicorns filled her head, together with Prince Lír’s singing, and the blubbering death wail of the man named Rukh. King Haggard’s gray face hung over her like a hammer, muttering, “But your eyes are still the same. No reflection, only yourself.”

“Your Majesty,” she spoke quietly, but it was sharp as a knife, promising never to forget. “I cannot see myself in your eyes either. You do not see us. You only see yourself.”  
  


Then she did close her eyes, but she shut in more than she kept out. The bronze-winged creature with a hag’s face swung by, laughing and prattling, and the butterfly folded its wings to strike. The Red Bull moved silently through the forest, pushing the bare branches aside with his pale horns. She knew when King Haggard went away, but she did not open her eyes.  
  


….....................................................

In the inherent way that women notice when their children change in the subtlest way, Molly observed the change in depth in her eyes and was very obviously glad for it, even if it frightened her a little, as they sat picking at the meager meal prepared.

“You look much better now than you did these days,” she said aloud between spoonfuls.

“I feel better,” The unicorn replied. “I keep dreaming of memories and every morning I remind myself that they are real. It has helped me.”

“That's very good. I'm sure now it will all go more smoothly.”

She didn't think it would, but the empty promise of hope didn't upset her as much as before. “Has Schmendrick found something?”

“A few clues that may point to the Bull's lair. The cat told me of them.”

A cold chill went down her spine. Now that she knew herself, she also knew why she feared the Bull so much, so very much that she let him almost drive her to the waves too, and suddenly wasn't sure about wanting to go down to confront him anymore. The ancient, blood red, blind spirit, that did not care for what she was. Nevertheless she nodded gently forward, prompting Molly to continue.

“It was... 'when the wine drinks itself, the skull speaks, and the clock strikes the right time, that's when you can find the tunnel that leads down to the Red Bull.' Now, we know where the skull and clock is, but how to put that all into practice is a mystery.”

“Old bones always speak when you know how to listen,” the unicorn replied. “the wine drinks itself when left out long enough. But what is the right time? What is ever the right time? The worlds turn, all on different time...”

“THAT is the part that puzzles you?” Schmendrick called to them from the staircase, shivering, wet, and overworked. He came to sit as well and flopped onto the chair like a sack of potatoes. “I would think it would be the wine.”

“Oh, you're completely frozen, have some soup.”

“All the gods bless you, Molly, if they exist or not. I would do it myself, but I am worried I'd turn you into a rabbit instead.”  
“I appreciate that you won't experiment.”

“I do have to experiment all day to amuse Haggard, so I am not particularly keen on continuing.” He began devouring the soup like a starving dog, which made the unicorn pity him a little now. She remembered the previous conversation and softly spoke.

“I will go look at both myself and see if I can find a connection.”

“That would be great. More heads, more wisdom, right? Especially long lived heads. Thank you. But even if the cat told the truth, which I doubt, Haggard will make sure we never have time to investigate the skull and the clock. Why do you suppose he piles more work on Molly every day, if not to keep her from prowling and prying in the great hall? Why do you think he keeps me entertaining him with my carnival tricks?—why do you think he took me as his wizard in the first place? He knows, I’m sure of it! He knows what you are, though he doesn’t quite believe it yet—but when he does, he’ll know what to do. He knows. I see it in his face sometimes.”

“I know he knows.”

Both of her human friends stopped moving momentarily, staring at her with wide eyes. They seemed like startled hares seeing a eagle descend.

“But... how?” Molly whispered.

“We have spoken of it,” the unicorn clarified without mercy for their nerves. “he knows of it, he told me. I know that he knows. It matters not, it is just as well that he does.”

“B-but he let you go?”

“Let me go?” she echoed hollowly. “Where did he let me go? I am as much his prisoner as the others, perhaps in a far worse way because they at least are themselves and together. I am alone here. Of course he let me go, I have nowhere to run.”

…..............................................................

Haggard's prediction that they would someday watch the sea together proved true. From the day that she saw them thrashing in the waves far under her feet, the grey waters dragged her sight towards them every time she passed a window and she never missed the coming tide, when she could see them and despair with them just for a little while.

Yet the sight brought some peace to her soul, too. It wasn't such mad joy and happiness that the king had, so much that it lit up his entire face, but it drew her in.

It had to. Hundreds, thousands of her brethren, it was too much magic gathered in one place and never was meant to be seen by mortal eye. Perhaps it has already driven him insane, and would do the same to her friends if they saw.

Because of that, the unicorn didn't tell them what she knew and why she got into the habit of staring out at the sea too now. It really didn't matter, anyway – wherever they were, they wouldn't come out while the Bull was around, and his snores shook the cliff every day.

Even she did not want to go down to the beach, though she longed to touch the water and even just for a moment touch one of them and be with them, to see a familiar snout and endlessly deep eyes.

After one such afternoon, when the sky was becoming too dark to see and the unicorns in the sea quieted down, she was slowly ascending the tower to her assigned room when she spotted a figure crouched in front of the door, a little awkwardly in the armour, and trying rather in vain to stick a folded up parchment under it. In vain, because this was one of the doors that closed as tight as possible to allow for a semblance of warmth in the chamber even without fire. She didn't have to look too closely to recognize the prince.

She watched for a moment, silently standing a little distance away until he straightened again, sighing in defeat, and turned to leave.

Immediately when he spotted her there, he turned beetroot red, and tried to say something a few times. He settled on a choked up apology.

“I'm so sorry, My Lady, I simply- I meant to- leave something here, but- it- the door-”

She nodded along, waiting for him to finish, but he trailed off into embarrassed gibberish, so instead the unicorn turned to look at the object he clutched.

“Why not simply give it to me in person?” she asked quizzically.

“I- I couldn't. I mean, I could, but I really did not mean to impose.”

“Then, you won't?”

“No. I mean, yes! No, only if you truly want it.”

It was obvious that he expected to be ridiculed and was relieved to see that no laughter followed. Regaining some courage, he then outstretched a hand with the parchment towards her carefully. The unicorn twitched a little, but forced herself to stand still and grab it between two fingers.

Lear stopped still a little distance away, and not knowing what to do with his hands or feet while she tentatively unfolded it he adopted a guardsman stance on impulse.

“Molly said that this could be a better gift for a lady than... than trophies. Or perhaps not, I don't really know, but if it is-- just please tell me your opinion. Please.”

A little while passed as she run her eyes over the words without a change in expression. Eventually, he couldn't bear the dumb stare, and asked again: “Well?”

“What is it?” “It's a poem. Well, an attempt at one, one of my better attempts, but...”

“Oh. Well... I'm sure you have put a lot of effort into it, but-”

“Is it that bad??”

“I don't know, Your Highness, I can't read this.”

The prince frowned, looking back over his handwriting. “Perhaps... my handwriting is not so good, it has been a while. I'm terribly sorry.”

“I don't know how your handwriting is,” she explained with the infinite patience of a being with a lot of time. “I don't know how to read.”

He looked up in shock. The unicorn, for a moment, almost thought that he recognized her, as would a hunter that suddenly saw the golden deer he shot turn into a princess, or a harpy break apart its cage with only its will, or a unicorn regain its horn. Such was the disbelief and look of discovery of something he didn't think possible on his face.

“My Lady, but aren't you of noble blood? I would think anyone like you would have had a tutor! Even I had one, and my father spares me no more thought than he does the vegetables of Hagsgate!”

She shrugged, returning the parchment to its original owner. “I never needed it.”

This new knowledge made the prince's head spin, conflicted over whether to be disappointed or glad, and made him pause to really consider what he knew of their beautiful visitor. He concluded that what he thought he knew was far more than what he really did.

“Did you never receive a gift such as this, either?”

“Men did compose songs and poems about me,” she replied after a moment's thought. “and about others like me, and sometimes I heard them. Sometimes maidens sung it for me and lads sung it when I thought I did not hear. Nobody truly... handed it to me like this, though.” Suddenly she thought of people leaving parchment stuck in the branches of her forest for her that would inevitably get nibbled at by curious squirrels, and a little high pitched, snorting noise escaped her.

“That is... a strange way of giving a gift.” Suddenly, his face lit up. “But did you like any of them? Perhaps, if there is one, I could write something similar. And, eh, read it to you afterwards, too, of course.”

The almost childlish excitement was different from his usual lovestruck, dazed look that he gave her way, almost melancholy, and she found she liked it a little more. It was almost like feeling a little ray of sun poking through leaves. In a winter that lasted as long as it did in this castle, it was a very welcome flash of a memory, and she held onto it.

“Have you ever seen a unicorn?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Have you ever seen a unicorn?” she repeated, looking up at him with a lively eye. “You have been so far and wide so many times, and you have seen so many different creatures. Have you ever seen a unicorn?”

“Oh...” He trailed off, slightly sadder, but not entirely devoid of life and wonder over the new possibilities. “No. I am loath to say they don't exist, after having seen too much, but if so, there are none in these parts. I'm sorry.”

If he only knew, she thought. “That's alright... I expected as much. On all my travels, I barely met anyone who has ever seen one... or even expected to anymore.”

The unicorn recalled seeing the royal couple, a foreign princess and Lear, and how she feebly tried to call out to one of them, trying out the same tactic as though wanting to summon a chicken for lunch. The not-yet-Amalthea stood only within their sight if they bothered to really look.

Lear seemed to think of the same event on his own at the same time, because he turned to give her a sideway glance. “My Lady, if I may be so bold... but I think if YOU tried, you could coax one out. If anyone would know how to call a unicorn, it would be you.”

She almost protested that she was not a princess wanting to snare one and had no need to, but stopped upon taking a breath.

He was right.

Who would know it better than herself, who could judge every tone and every word and every emotion behind them and if they would appeal to her or not? Who remembered better, as the unicorn who was most around the world, which calls made her wish to show herself?

She took a glance out the window, towards the waves that were just so in her line of sight. The tide would turn soon. Their manes would mix with the foam and whinnies with the bird calls. What were the songs she liked?

The wordless ones. When a girl with a earnest heart and open mind sat in her forest, she never needed to call a spell. She needed no golden bridle or a silky pillow or a basket full of the sweetest fruit, only a few words would suffice. Despite that, the unicorn remembered one from some time ago. It was a simple village girl, not a princess, and she went out to collect strawberries. She went a little deeper than usual, and must have spotted a white shadow moving between the trees, because she stopped and sat on the ground. Wide eyed and smiling, she simply adressed her, thanking her for protecting the forest and for helping such delicious fruit to grow, and then said she wanted to thank her for it. So despite not remembering the words exactly, she started humming a song she thought the unicorn would like. She wasn't calling her, simply singing to her, hoping to please and expecting nothing. Amalthea came out to listen, and eventually let the girl ride her back to her home. She was so happy that she gave the unicorn a hug.

The strands of the melody appeared once again in her mind now, and she focused on starting on the beginning of the song, gentle and trembling, and how it was given as a gift to bring joy to her, only asking to be heard. Unwavering it like a thread, she let it sound a little louder after, bringing out tunes that reminded her of the summer day in the woods and the smell of strawberries and hoped the echo would ring out to the water and that they would hear for just a moment, and at least for that one moment be reminded of their own homes and have some hope back. Perhaps, also have the courage to face the Bull.

It was a gift and a plea at once, prodding them to not give up, to not get crushed by the winter but instead think of what would come after it and how once they would feel the grass again. The birds outside quieted and the wind stilled. If she strained her ears a little, she could hear soft sounds on the wind from the sea, the quiet reply to her song.

She called to them directly, letting them hear the longing to meet again when free.

A deep, gruff snort from under them broke her concentration and she whirred around in fright, head lowered, eyes wide open, almost ready to charge.

She came face to face with the king. Haggard stood on the stairwell startled, holding a similar posture, with one leg on the leave, and he looked like a man woken up from sleepwalking.

“You called,” he said, then stopped as if his own words shocked him. He took a step back with a quick, shallow breath, and almost involuntarily his hand shot up to cover his forehead, again with the self-same sound, like an agitated stag.

“I sung,” the unicorn replied, now herself somewhat appaled at the scene that unfolded.

“No, not only sung,” Haggard insisted, increasingly agitated. “it wasn't just some song!”

Lear, who forgot himself on the melody too, yet did not feel as strongly about it, looked from one to the other. The senses that grew sharpened on travels now told him something that they did not on the first time, and that there was something heavy hanging in the air, intangible but pressing.

“It was for unicorns,” he said dumbly, studying their faces. “Ah, father, if you aren't feeling well,..”

“I'm fine!” the king snapped back, yet he was almost shivering. “Don't sing that again. Never sing that again in here!”

Thunder crashed outside, very nearly blending into Haggard's voice and into the sudden despair and excitement in it all rolled into one. Then he simply turned and fled, leaving two equally baffled figures standing on the stone and watching a storm come from the sea.


	3. Spring

The winter whined and crept along, not toward any spring, but toward the brief, devouring summer of King Haggard’s country. Life in the castle dragged on, but it seemed like it has somehow moved onto a new state of being, like a new chapter in a book that brings changes. Not much changed on the surface, though, only under it. Molly Grue cooked and laundered, scrubbed stone, mended armor and sharpened swords; she chopped wood, milled flour, groomed horses and cleaned their stalls, melted down stolen gold and silver for the king’s coffers, and made bricks without straw. And in the evenings, before she went to bed, she usually read over Prince Lír’s new poems to the Lady Amalthea, and praised them, and corrected the spelling. Upon realizing that the lady could not read them on her own, he took to making sure that they sounded good aloud when he'd read them to her later.  
  
Schmendrick fooled and juggled and flimflammed as the king bade him, hating it, and knowing that Haggard knew he hated it and took his pleasure thereby. But he no longer sought to discover the secret way down to the Red Bull, even when he was allowed time to himself. He seemed to have surrendered, not to the king but to some far older, crueler enemy that had caught up with him at last, this winter in this place.  
  


But the Lady and Prince Lír walked and spoke and sang together as blithely as though King Haggard’s castle had become a green wood, wild and shadowy with spring. They climbed the crooked towers like hills, picnicked in stone meadows under a stone

sky, and splashed up and down stairways that had softened and quickened into streams. He told her everything he knew, and what he thought about all of it, told her stories and recited the poems, and she helped overcome his embarrassment at it with listening. They had arrived at a sort of compromise – she would listen to his tales of heroic deeds, but along with it, intently wanted to hear of the places he visited. Mountains, castles, rivers, but most of all, various forests. Once, she almost teared up when he mentioned a lilac wood – it wasn't her wood, but it was close. She told tales from their travels as well now, those that didn't betray too much. Sometimes, the rapt and breathless attention from him unnerved her, but most of the time, she more or less got used to it.

She did not sing the same song again, but enjoyed making new ones for the poems received. They were easier to remember that way. The first attempts were clumsy, but so were his words, and together they improved with time.  
  
They seldom heard the hunting roar of the Red Bull at night any more, but when the hungering sound came to her ears, then she would be frightened, and the walls and the winter would grow up around them again, as though their spring were all of her making. He would have held her at such times, but he had long known her dread of being touched by anyone but Molly Grue.

One day when sea was calmer and the breeze was becoming what passed for warm in this place, Lir for once decided to seek out the gray king by himself, and join him for supper. The Lady was up for an afternoon nap, as she was prone to on those gentler days, and he did not yet have any duties.

Haggard was mildly surprised to see him come in to the tower, but it prompted a no stronger reaction than a stray bird flitting in.

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

A grunt and wave of hand came as a reply, which was about as accomodating as Haggard could get, and the prince took it as invitation enough to pull up a chair of his own.

“Is there any particular reason you deemed it necessary to come all the way to see me?” he muttered. Lir took a deep breath; it wasn't easy to fool this man, as he had discovered ages ago, yet a little pang of guilt forced him to lie anyway.

“Does a son have to have a reason to want to eat with his father?”

Haggard looked up and he lost any and all courage to continue with the facade.

“...yes, I have a reason. I figured... with how it is going, I should have your bless- err, well, approval, in any case, to go on.”

“Stop blabbering, boy, you know I have no need for it. What is it?”

“Alright. Apologies. Uh. I have been spending a lot of time with Lady Amalthea lately, and I think it is going very well... slowly, yes, but well, and... I'd like your approval to court her officially.”

“I refuse to grant it.”

“I think it is about time to make it clear I'm... excuse me?”

Only at the next moment did Lir notice what the reply was, stone cold and final, and it took him by great surprise. He had gone over this conversation in his mind before, and expected some resistance, but not that he would be denied the very idea before he could finish his reasons. He also did not expect that it would catch Haggard's attention so completely.

“I refuse to let you court her,” he repeated simply with his piercing gaze resting on the man opposite. “it is nothing short of foolish and will only lead to r-.”

“Why??” So taken aback he forgot his manners, Lir butted in. “What reason could you possibly have to not want me to be married? It cannot be something about her, no doubt.”

“No, there is nothing wrong with her, and I could not care less if you get married. But not to her – it is not meant to be. If you wish it, look for another bride.”

“There is none other in the world that could capture my heart as strongly!” Very nearly yelling, Lir stood up and began to pace the tower anxiously. The king watched. “Nay- not even in the heavens or the sea!”

“I would not be so sure on that,” Haggard replied, somewhat amused.

“Before her, I was barely aware of the shadow of love, a mere mirage that I mistook for the real thing – I took the dance of noble ladies as grace, but compared to her it is as ducks waddling around in the mud. I could not care less for any other that came before or comes after her. Without her, my life will be dull! It will have no happiness, no passion, or life!”

The king watched evenly, finishing his meager meal while at it, and afterwards pushed it aside for a goblet of water.

“I would have preferred you marry the princess,” he said. “I forget what her name was. With her, yes, you would have only had much more shallow and even love, and perhaps no passion at all, and there would be some grief as it is in a human life, and all would be as it should be. There would be no grand feats or epic poems about your love, but you would not destroy either of you in the process, either. Pursuing **her** , you **will** get hurt. You may die. You may simply fall into deep despair and madness from which you will never heal. Do not pursue her. Every man wants to, but it is not a beauty meant to be held by man. Only observed.”

“How would you know?” Lir asked defiantly. “She is as much a stranger to you than she is to me, you know as much as I do, possibly less. And you are no great seer, otherwise you would have already known this would not stop me.”

“Boy, I know much more hidden under the surface there than you would even deem to believe, much less discover. Of course, had you believed, had you realized, you would not be standing here asking for the impossible. You are an even bigger fool than I thought.”

“I don't imagine anything is impossible,” he replied, and was about to leave the room when Haggard called out again.

“If you insist on taking this route, then I ough to warn you that nobody in the castle will make it easy for you. Least of all, her. And I shall not either, for your sake.”

“If I was one to be repelled by obstacles in my way, I would not have become a hero for her sake.”

The king's wry smile said more than words, but he waved a hand in dismissal. From years of experience he was already well aware when diplomacy failed spectacularly.

….............................................................

As the tide turned, the Lady leaned far out over the railing with the foam white curtain of hair falling down like a caught cloud. Far out, she managed to catch the eye of a few of them, and they gazed up back at her, suffering yet patient. They did have all the time in the world, even if she did not at the present state.

Feeling a presence brush against the edge of her mind, she beckoned him closer to come look as well. Not that the gesture was necessary, as the grey king was by her side quickly, looking over the trapped creatures himself with a satisfied, beaming smile.

“There they are,” she whispered. “It is more peaceful here when it gets warmer,” she said after, outstretching one hand down towards the waves. It was too high to reach, yes, yet for a moment she almost imagined she could touch a velvety nose, and the sharp, deadly point of a ivory horn. Would it make her bleed?

Haggard nodded. “It is especially when the summer solstice arrives. The water gets cleared up and calm, and they flit under it like dolphins... it is never quite warm, as it used to be, but... it pleases them nevertheless.”

“Me too, then.” “I imagine it will. The shore gets greener.”

“Good. The grey and whites... they were becoming too much.”

For once, he tore his eyes away from the herds underneath and to her face, and a flash of what almost looked like regret passed his features. “Go to Hagsgate. They will have all the orchards blooming at this time and gardens bearing fruit. You must miss it-”

“No, no.” A cold fear gripped her heart upon imagining that she would pass by the gate, by the lair, to be on the same level as the dreaded bloody presence slumbering under the castle. “I can't. I really can't. The bull...”

“Will not recognize you,” he filled in, almost frustrated. “he did not the first time, nor all the time you have been here. He won't know. You cannot stay cooped up here alone.”

She calmed her breathing somewhat to reply. “No, I am not alone here. Not any more than I would be in Hagsgate.”

“I see.” They both stood silent for a long time afterwards, though it did not seem to be in the quiet air. Once the herds were no longer in plain sight, settling deeper inside, the two figures on a tower turned to face each other once again with renewed spirits. The Lady inclined her head a little, standing still, as a signal for him to speak.

“I suppose you have already picked up on it despite not having much knowledge of human relationships,” the king began. “but Lir is desperately in love with you.”

“I did notice,” she nodded. “sometimes, the intensity scares me. But he keeps his distance so that I am not too worried to spend time with him.”

“The reason I'm bringing this up is that he has confessed that he would like to court you, without pretense, with all that comes with it, and you must make your stance clear before this spirals out of control completely.”

The Lady was puzzled, but knew it to be true, and slowly nodded. “Well... alright. I understand.” Then, somewhat dumbly, but in the innocent way of creatures that don't know any better, she asked: “How do I do that?”

“Tell him the truth.” “...I don't think he will believe me.”

“Ah, not the full truth, I suppose. But you must put your feelings into words.”

The Lady stared at him as if he grew a second head on the spot. “Why? How? What do I say? Is it not obvious?”

“No, not to men.” Haggard looked on the verge of laughing. It was one of the only instances where he was in such a mood, besides unicorns. “Your scullery maid understands you without words, without even you knowing, but for men, you must speak aloud and clearly.”

“You understand me,” she pointed out.

“I know you,” Haggard replied quietly, looking over her forehead with a wry, yet strangely gentle smile. “I know you.”

“You know well,” The Lady said and realized how true it was with a start, now that she said it. Haggard seemed to understand her quickly with an ease that did not need more than coming up near her, taking one look into her eyes. “can't you tell him?”

“I tried. Perhaps I was too vague, but even if not, I think it would do no good. He is a stubborn young man. This is something you must do on your own.”

For a moment she tried to wrap her head around the concept. It was so very clear to her and she found herself at a loss for how to explain, the same as if she tried to explain breathing. Her kin felt keenly, they did not talk often. They had no need to. If there was something an unicorn needed to say aloud, it was usually life changing, and explaining to a human their disinterest was not something they ever needed to say, because they simply did not approach them in the first place. It left her exhausted like after a long run and an exhausted, animal sound escaped her.

For a moment, it looked like he would place a hand on her cheek, and she froze. Instead, though, he let his fingers slide just by a strand of hair. She felt the warmth from under a glove, but did not feel the touch, and relaxed. “I will try.”

…...........................................................................................................

Haggard's words came true very soon afterwards, as a warmer (which is to say, without wind or rain) day set on the castle. There was a small clearing in between two outside staircases leading to towers, cut off from the sea and only overlooking the grey skies, and there, in relative safety, a blanket laid on the ground and a plate of fruit brought in from Hagsgate accompanied by a bottle of golden mead on it.

The Lady sat herself down on a couple pillows and almost could feel like being in her meadow, surrounded with the thick, fragrant forest on the softest grass, and the image hovered delicately in the air like a fine mist to be grasped by her noble companion.

For once, he was far too distracted by his upcoming (official) confession to actually focus on the spirit of a groove in spring around them, though.

Sensing his nerves cracking right before her, the deep eyes of the Lady wandered over to him with a curious look and spoke to him before he could begin.

“I do know what you would like to tell me today,” she said, remembering the need to put thoughts into words for him. “but I cannot agree.”

“Did my father tell you?” he blurted out, immediately crestfallen. “Oh, and I so hoped I could say it with my own words.... I´ve been practising for so long, it-”

The Lady raised a hand palm up to stop him, remembering the gesture from watching over human generals and kings.

“It makes no difference who told me, I could not agree even if you said it first, even if you told me in a song.”

A painful, melancholy silence fell between them, and she could almost feel it physically pressing on her, so heavy and tiring. She wanted to run, but forced herself to stay still and continue.

“Why?” He simply asked, forcing himself to leave his voice even and calm, not to startle her further. This always seemed to work better than trying to be closer. Keep a distance, not touch her, either with hands or words.

The Lady struggled. “I am not who you think I am,” she said finally, telling the truth. “I could not love you as you would like. I cannot love anyone the way they would like.”

Now the pain faded into confusion, but more than that, sheer curiosity plastered itself on the prince's face now.

“I'm not sure I understand,” he said, prompting her to go on. She recognized it and took a deep breath.

“I am,” she began. “not myself. Not really. Were I really free, really as I... should be, you would not even think for a moment to court me.”

Lir was eerily reminded of the conversation he had with the king a while ago. It was almost as if they were saying the same thing, knowing the same thing, yet it eluded him, because neither thought it necessary to explain it in language, only riddles.

Then it dawned on him.

“My lady, are you under a curse?” he asked in a high pitched voice, suddenly feeling very stupid for not realizing it sooner. The Lady looked up at him in surprise and he realized that he had finally, finally hit the nail on the head.

“I'm under a spell,” she corrected a little, too baffled to elaborate.

“Dear lord!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up. “Why didn't you tell me?! Why haven't you asked for my help before? Oh, oh my, no wonder you were so cold, I was off to rescue so many others but you were wasting away here bound in shackles.”

He would have reached to hold her hands, but knew not to, so he simply grasped his own together, looking her in the eye earnestly. She stared back, wide open and vulnerable.

“I am so, so sorry. If you find it in yourself to forgive me, tell me what to do, and I promise that I'll help you break it and be free.”

A high pitched noise escaped her, almost a cry, but she smiled. A genuine, lighthearted, and relieved smile.


	4. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ;)

Very soon after their agreement, Lir decided that it would do good to hold a council of sorts down in the kitchen, in a modest company of four. The Lady expected it. Molly was cautious, and Schmendrick was completely and utterly baffled by having the prince included.

“My Lady, have you... told him?” the woman asked, fidgeting with a cup and clean rag.

“You can speak openly, Molly,” Lir replied with a small amount of hurt pride. “and you could have done that sooner, you know. I have done my fair share of breaking curses by this time.”

Schmendrick had half a mind to tell him off, as he had only been in the business of heroics for a few months, but his other half a mind told him he himself did not yet break any curses at all, and so he kept grudgingly quiet.

“Well... I wasn't sure she wanted to share that,” Molly replied hesitantly, eyes darting towards the unicorn. She returned the look and made a movement that fell between a horse tossing its mane and a gentle shrug.

“I think she maybe didn't know how to breach the subject. And I was a fool to wait for it in the first place, it is so glaringly obvious.”

Remembering the king's advice once again, the Lady spoke up. “Lir promised that he would help us with the quest. He has lived here all his life, he must know the castle much better, including all the hidden paths. Tell him.”

Her companions exchanged doubtful glances, but complied.

“Well, do you know what the quest is about in the first place?” Schmendrick asked.

“Not really. Does it matter? I doubt there is anything here more dangerous than what awaits outside of the kingdom.”

They looked at each other sideways again.

“... unless it concerns the Bull, alright. That could be a problem.”

Silence followed the statement, uncomfortably full with meaning, and Lir made a understanding sound in response. “Aha. I see.”

“Haggard told me that the Bull would only be around for as long as he lived,” the unicorn said softly. “but I like him alive. We must chase it away another way.”

Lir balked slightly at her crude explanation of the situation, but composed himself fast.

“Yes, err, I would very much NOT like it if your quest involved the death of my father. And why do you need the Bull away?”

This time, the silence held something like a sacred secret, something that would be made silly if spoken out loud. Once again, the Lady took it upon herself to practice voicing her thoughts. “We- I, did not come here for it. I only learned of the Bull when already on the path here. The thing I was really looking for were... the others. Unicorns.” She took a deep breath. “They are here. They are all here, all collected, every single one. There is not one left in the world, as the Bull caught them all, and hoarded here, under the caste and in it. They will not leave... they will not until the Bull is gone. They are too afraid. He is ancient.”

Lir stared, but understanding dawned on him visibly in seconds. He remembered her song and her questions about them.

“If they were that close, wouldn't they hear you?” he offered gently.

“They hear me,” she replied. Some of the pain of that truth seeped into her voice, usually only seen in the dark of night. “I hear them, too, I know where they are, yet- they are too scared. I am scared of him too. But I will not be free until they are. **I REFUSE to be free until they are!** ”

A spark of ancient, terrifying magic filled the air, so often only seen as gentle and beautiful that you could forget that it could slay dragons, call forth lighting, and shape entire lands to its will. Schmendrick shuddered when it did, suddenly getting a little short on breath.

At that moment, he knew that her word was binding. To magic, a unicorn's word was law, which was why they spoke so little.

Lir and Molly, meanwhile, wore similar expressions of sheer awe and adoration, each for a different reason.

“Then we shall do that,” Lir proclaimed, putting a fist to his chest with a determined smile. “on my honor, I promise to help you free the unicorns. Even if my father hates me afterwards.”

“Oh, that's wonderful!” Molly clapped her hands together with a bright face. “I thought we would be completely stuck until the next winter came rolling around! It will be so good to have another helping hand!”

Schmendrick was quiet, and decided that he wasn't going to let the wine drink itself yet. He needed it more, if they found any at all, and he would redouble the search himself.

….............................................

One summer morning after, a shrill, susprising sound rang from one of the balconies that overlooked the cliffs and sea, so early it woke everyone but the sentries on guard, who looked around in wonder searching for the paradise bird who made it. It made Molly tumble out of bed, but the voice became familiar in her dream addled state almost instantly anyway. More out of curiosity than worry for the Lady, she set out to go search.

The unicorn was perched on the edge of the balcony and peered over it, hair flowing down, and something was lightly tugging on one cloud-soft lock, each time prompting a little, lighthearted fleeting laugh from her that soared around like a colorful butterfly.

For a while, Molly only stood in the doorway of the tower, on top of the stairs, afraid to break the moment, but then the Lady called out.

“Come! Come here, Molly! Oh, they are so small!”

Almost involuntarily the woman's feet carried her over, all too happy to oblige and share in whatever wonder could catch the unicorn's attention so fully, and leaned in against her side to look over the ledge too.

Tugging on the white veil that hung above them with the careless prods all babies had in common, two fluffy, gray hatchlings huddled on a impossibly narrow ledge, with a pitiful little moss growing underneath their messy nest. They made a few shrill squeaks, and overall very excitedly examined the part of their visitor they could reach.

“They hatched last night,” The Lady explained with a wide, uncontrollable smile. “new life... it is always good to see.”

“That it is,” Molly agreed with a smile, watching the clumsy chicks flap around. One of them, somehow, managed to grab onto a looser hair and pulled it out, then immediately turned to its sibling to show it and peep, apparently in extreme excitement. The Lady squeaked as it came out of her head, but didn't lose her smile.

“Do they recognize you?” “Of course. That's why I had a hair stolen just now!”

Now both laughed purely for the silly joy of the moment, and lingered a while after until hunger forced them both underground for a brief moment again. The laughter lingered, making the moss look greener.

…..........................................

A familiar mind brushed her own and she nodded in greeting, already aware that the king never missed even one tide and that he preferred it if they watched together.

“It is much more beautiful when the sun is out,” she said, beckoning closer to the ledge. “it is not so bad to be here when it's warm.”

“It used to be warm all the time,” Haggard replied, also leaning over to see.

“What happened?”

“Some say that it was lush and green until I came,” he replied carelessly. “perhaps that's true, but I think not. I have lived here for a very long time.”

What is a very long time to mortals? She wondered privately.

He watched the green under then for a while, then dryly said: “I heard you've managed to convince Lir to aid you in your quest even without the promise of soon to come romance. Congratulations. He is an even bigger fool than I thought.”

“I did not ask him to,” she replied.

“You didn't have to. He became a hero on his own just for you. He brought you a dragon's head without you ever asking for it. Of course he is going to help you, even though he doesn't know how great the danger is. Or knows, but thinks death is somehow worth it.”

“Oh!” The Lady looked at him fully, eyes sparkling with curiosity, as she noticed the underlaying sentiment under the insults. “You do care about him.”

Haggard bristled up as if she just told him a grave insult.

“I care only that he is alive to rule,” he replied curtly. “Not if he gets hurt or not, especially if it's of his own accord. Men must make their own decisions. He is old enough to decide what pains to invite in.” Noticing her stare, he turned his own on her. “What?”

“I'm just puzzled why you lie to my face when you know I can tell otherwise.”

“Drop the subject, M'Lady. It's not important. AH, there! They come!”

When the tide rolled in, she watched him from the side, always marveling what a incredible change it brought. It was a wild, mad joy, almost painful in its strength, like a pitch black night split apart with a falling star. For a while, he gained his own unique shine.

The Lady leaned as far out as she could over the ledge as well and began to sing.

It was wordless, and the melody did not matter, as it was only sung to send a message. The summer was short, but once they were out, it would become greener. She was afraid still, but less so. They were still trapped, but the prison slowly decayed around them, and it would not last. The horns and hooves were thrown high, listening with bright eyed curiosity, waiting, and then cried out in response, also a wordless encouragement for her to keep trying. The summer still lasted.

She smiled lightly at that and outstretched a hand, getting as close as they could to touching without her coming down to the water herself. The skies were clear that day and she could see the fish moving along with them, silvery shapes in the deep blue beside the tails tangled with seaweed.

Out the corner of her eye, she then noticed that the king wasn't watchig them for the first time. Instead, his focus was on her, still and scrutinizing, boring so deeply into the soul that likely his few remaining men would turn away shaking. She turned as well, with a little head tilt, wordlessly asking what was going on.

“I told you not to sing,” he said weakly.

“You told me not to sing one particular song,” she corrected, mildly amused. “and I did not sing it because I like you, not because I listen to orders. Even from kings.”

“I was wrong,” the king cut in abruptly. “and I am deeply sorry for saying that. Even if... you sing of my inevitable defeat, right now or every day, or the haunting melody from back that night in the tower. Please, sing.”

He shifted a little closer and the Lady twitched, but quickly relaxed with the knowledge that she was safe. A hand raised, hovering nearby, with a longing in it that crawled beneath her skin, and just barely caressed the air at her cheek. He couldn't, and knew it.

“I would if I could,” he replied to her thoughts.

…...............................................................................

That evening the castle shook at its very foundations as the Bull emerged, hungry and raring to go. The entire sky ran red for a while as he went and the unicorns cried silently in fear, most in the sea and one in a high tower with trembling legs. He, it, was agitated, and rammed a way through the mountain head first. He ran around, but could not find what he was looking for, and so with roaring he ran out, far over the horizon until for a while it looked like dawn came early.

The Lady took a breath, then ran out her room and down stairs, light footed and very glad to have at least some way to burn the fear out. She only stopped on the very bottom, in the pitch black where the only glow was from herself.

It was dim. She knew it would be, yet it still made her want to shake violently.

Before, she could light a whole path for rabbits on a moonless night with only a strand of hair. Now she could barely see her own bare feet.

With a start, though, she realized she was down in the wide hall where several staircases joined and great carved pillars lined the walls. Down where the darkness was very much alive at night like a world of its own, and at its thickest, barely allowing any light. The Lady supposed that it used to be a cave once. It smelled so. It was old and damp and cool, and though strange, she found it somehow comforting how little seemed to change in it. On one pillar, a skull sat propped up like a candle holder and on the far end was a clock, sleek and black.

She just heard it striking a little while ago. It struck four, then a few minutes after half past eleven. This clock was like that.

Little feet scurried in the corners, curious and drawn to her light, faint as it was. She smiled into the dark, welcoming that there was some life there too that showed up when the Bull was away.

She silently continued on her way, marveling at the stillness that fell over the castle when the terrible wonder was gone, and relished in it, despite the deep night.

Through being forced to be there, she had learned to listen to old stones. They were quite alive, especially in these nearly untouched cave parts, and though it was no green forest, it kept her from going crazy entirely. This was nature too. Not her nature, but it made her feel more welcome – more of a guest in another´s domain, than captive. Were it not for the Bull, she may have liked the experience.

By blind memory she found her way outside to a terrace that was quite low, almost splashed by sea water at high tide. Low, dreamy, relieved at the momentary still and quiet, she began to hum a new melody. At least for the moment, she wanted to take in the peace.

….............................................................

“Come here. I want to speak with you.”

With that single line Schmendrick knew his work day would likely be long, as it was not a request. Haggard rarely put forth requests.

With a long suffering sigh, he shuffled over, looking over the railing to where the king was staring, not moving a muscle.

It was alright to look at in the warm weather, but seeing him still like a mountain when a blizzard raged around, unbothered by the chill, well... Schmendrick was glad it was summer now.

“Look down there.”

He did. Nothing particularly interesting was at the spot, except a terrace overlooking the sea. Then again, almost every window and balcony was turned toward the sea. But from that side, a faint echo of a melody, and laughter of two sounded, then the screeching of birds.

“Last night, she was out again singing right there,” the king said and he did not need to say who. Molly´s singing was lovely to hear too, yes, but Haggard would not take notice of that.

“it was caves, deep pristine springs, and calm nights.”

“Oh, so Lady Amalthea-”

Haggard gave him such a look of disdain that Schmendrick shut up and bid him to continue.

“But this is the first time that I hear her laughter,” Haggard did, and sounded as if he was himself shocked at the fact. “it was beautiful. I´ve never heard something so beautiful in my entire life. It made MY heart sing like a silver bell. I forgot that I have a heart at all. I have never heard one of them laugh.”

Schmendrick gave a sideway, somewhat horrified glance at the serene expression on Haggard´s face. It wasn´t often that he looked truly happy, or even truly content for that matter, but now it was both, as if the warmth of summer finally got through to him too. Of course, they both knew it was a different warmth that caused it.

“I had no idea how different it would be.”

Now it was almost a whisper and the magician was growing seriously concerned that these were his last words, a dying regret. But no. Haggard was about as close to death as the cliffs under them.

“Well,” Schmendrick drawled, immediately regretting opening his mouth as he started. Perhaps you would like to see them all running free and happy? Of course he wouldn´t.

Thankfully, his input was ignored anyway.

“It is a most precious thing, yet... it cannot be grasped. It cannot be forced.”

“Yes,” he agreed, unsure where this conversaton – or monologue, rather – was heading.

“Yet, the more I think on it... the more I wish to hear it. That glow it gives her.”

“Well... you can only hope to keep her in high spirits, I suppose?”

Finally, Haggard gave him a sliver of attention – a light turn of head, like a attentive goat, about to charge, snorted, and then smiled.

Somehow, he found the look familiar and the thought chilled him to the bone.


End file.
